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‘Annihilation of the heart’

The ideal of non-perception in the Liezi 列子

Richard J. Sage (M.A.)

Oberländerstr. 23

Germany – 81371 Munich

Phone: +49 (0) 162 / 2405797

E-Mail (1): arrrj.sage@gmail.com

E-Mail (2): j.sage@campus.lmu.de

Research Assistant at the

Institute of Sinology, LMU Munich

Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität München

Institut für Sinologie

Kaulbachstr. 53

Germany - 80539 Munich

Phone: +49 (0) 89 / 2180 - 2362

Fax: +49 (0) 89 / 2180-17959

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‘Annihilation of the heart’ – The ideal of non-perception in the Liezi 列子

Richard J. Sage

LMU Munich

Abstract. The aim of this article is to illuminate the important role human perception plays

within the work Liezi 列子 in relation to reaching the highest levels of existence—or even

becoming one with the Dao 道. The premise for any Daoist adept to reach these stages is to

unify his full ‘spirit’ (shen 神). Because this ‘spirit’ is closely linked to one’s heart and its

function in the perceptual process, the only way to influence the state of the ‘spirit’ is through

changes within this process.

When juxtaposing the proper adjustment of one’s perception with the Liezi’s notion of

cosmogony, it becomes evident that these two development processes run antiparallel to each

other. Starting as a fully conscious individual integrated in human society, one has to reverse

one’s personal ‘evolution’ to reach a point before society, the Self and the cosmos were created.

Since at this point only cosmic principles were in ‘existence,’ the individual ceases to be and

becomes one with those principles, thus gaining at least some of their transcendent properties.

For this ‘transcendence’ to be permanent, however, it is necessary to completely annihilate

one’s heart, as it is the last connection to the human realm.

Introduction

As Arthur F. Wright has pointed out, one of the elements common among all the traditions

and sub-traditions, which could be classified as ‘Daoist,’ is “the persisting belief that some

men, by divers regimens—mystical, dietary, sexual, alchemical—can attain a kind of

transcendence, which manifests itself in longevity, invulnerability, charisma, the ability to

know and manipulate the forces around them.” (Wright 1970, 248-249) Indeed, the Liezi 列

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子 ,1

too, is packed with stories about people who appear to possess this “kind of

transcendence.”

Having a closer look at these examples it seems, however, that there is neither a dietary,

sexual nor alchemical secret they all share and base their invulnerability or charisma on. A

common theme running through all these stories is that of a somewhat peculiar way to

perceive one’s surroundings: Unusual levels of skill or invulnerability appear to be achieved

through different degrees of unselfconsciousness.2 Philip J. Ivanhoe discerns between “two

1 Although the final word has not been written, it is now consensus among most sinologists, that

the Liezi, as it now exists, indeed cannot be much older than its first commentary written by Zhang

Zhan 張湛 (fl. 370) (See Ames 2011, 2).

Of course, its compiler made considerable use of older sources, which are considered to belong to a

manifold of different schools of thought, often copying them almost unaltered. Yet, according to

A.C. Graham’s textual analysis of the work, its larger part was still written by a single author, who

also edited the sources used, and who can be regarded as primarily ‘Daoist’ inspired (See Graham

1961).

I will therefore treat the Liezi as a homogenous work in its own right and, admitting the fact that its

author is unknown, as if this scripture communicates with its audience directly. The same approach

will be used for other works of dubious origins or unknown authorship—e.g.: the Zhuangzi 莊子,

the Guanzi 管子, etc.

2 Neither in early Chinese literature nor in modern sciences, universally applicable and accepted

definitions or systematizations of the concepts of transcendence, perception, cognition or

consciousness or have been postulated. I will therefore primarily use these terms in their very basic

meanings derived from their Latin roots:

Transcendence (from lat. trans- = beyond and scandere = to climb) is a state beyond the limits of

material experience.

Perception (from lat. perceptio = receiving, collection). In this article the term perception is mainly

used in the meaning of sense perception. It is thus the process of receiving of receiving sensory

impressions and converting them into sensations.

Cognition (from lat. cognitio = ability to comprehend) is the process of editing the sensations in

order to accumulate experiences and knowledge.

Consciousness (from lat. conscius = knowing, being aware) is by far the most problematic of these

terms. As working definition for this article, I would suggest, that it is the ability to actively know,

or a state of being aware of the results of the own cognitive process.

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distinct, though related, senses” of this unselfconsciousness to be found in the Liezi: the

“everyday sense” and the “religious sense” (Ivanhoe 2011, 128). He further states:

“As one approaches this latter ideal, the precise nature of the desired state and the value

it purportedly has become increasingly elusive and inaccessible to the uninitiated.

[…T]he author of the Liezi, like other traditional Chinese thinkers, presents this more

dramatic sense of the theme of unselfconsciousness as a natural extension of the more

prosaic everyday sense but […] this move is not justified in any clear way” (ibid.)

Certainly, the move from the everyday sense to the religious sense is not justified in a very

clear way. Nevertheless, even though it might not be explicitly given in one single passage,

the Liezi does provide a sort of justification of this “natural extension” of unselfconsciousness.

The aim of this article is thus to draw a rough sketch of a system in which this justification

might be understood more directly.

In order to do so, I first want to focus attention on the fourth passage in the Yellow

Emperor (Huangdi 黃帝) chapter (Liezi 2/7/23-8/3).3 Here Liezi himself asks Guan Yin 關尹

precisely the main question of this article: How does an ‘utmost human’ (zhi ren 至人) attain

invulnerability? Since Guan Yin’s answer touches upon both, the everyday and the religious

sense of unselfconsciousness and introduces some of the most important conceptions

connected with the latter, it will serve as a framework for this article.

3 When citing primary materials, for which a volume in the ICS Ancient Chinese Text Concordance

Series has been published, I will constantly refer to this series in the following style: (Work title

Chapter/Page/Line). The individual volumes are listed in the references under the series’ principal

editor Lau D.C.

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Setting the frame – Liezi and Guan Yin

Guan Yin’s initial response is still rather cryptic: The ‘utmost human’ achieves his status

through ‘the preservation of pure Qi’ (chun qi zhi shou 純氣之守) and not through knowledge,

skills or particular deeds. He continues to explain that every ‘thing’ (wu 物 ) is only

distinguished from another because of its visible and audible characteristics. In the end they

are all equally created in the ‘non-shaping’ (bu xing 不形) and come to halt where ‘change

does not appear’ (wu suo hua 無所化). This being the case, none of the ‘things’ should be

given any preference—a fact further stressed in Lu Chongxuan’s 盧重玄 (fl. 735)

commentary to this passage:

All of which possesses a shape is a thing. If all the things are mere shape and color, how

could one be behind, how could one be before? Things consider themselves noble or

base, just because of an excessive emotional reaction.

凡有形者皆物也。物皆是[形]色[而已]，亦何後何先耶？而自貴賤物者情感之甚也。

(Cited from: Yang 2011, 49).

It is only necessary to ‘grasp and fully exhaust this situation’ (de shi er qiong zhi 得是而窮

之) and one will be able to ‘float around where the ten thousand things end and begin’ (you hu

wanwu zhi suo zhong shi 游乎萬物之所終始). The person who achieves this is described as

someone into whom the things cannot ‘enter by themselves’ (zi ru yan 自入焉), because ‘his

heaven preserved its completeness’ (qi tian shou quan 其天守全) and because ‘his spirit is

without cracks’ (qi shen wu xi 其神無郤).

These enigmatic explanations undoubtedly belong to the more religious—or in the terms of

Wright “mystical”—realm and can hardly be translated directly. Yet there are some important

points already made:

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It is necessary to regard ‘things’ in a specific way. Rather than differentiating and

evaluating them according to their perceptible qualities, they have to be treated as if they have

never been separated. Doing so apparently also requires a certain lack of emotion and is not

connected to any knowledge or skills. All this indicates that one has to change the way any

human would normally perceive and react to their environment.

As will be discussed below, the ‘non-shaping’ and the place where ‘change does not

appear’ symbolize transcendent principles, which predate the actual cosmos. Realizing that all

the ‘things’ stem from these principles and end there enables the ‘utmost human’ to float in

exactly that realm. This means that by adjusting the own perception, it might be possible to

get in contact with the transcendent principles and gain some of their properties. An essential

prerequisite, however, seems to be that the completeness of ‘his heaven’ and ‘spirit’ of the

person remains intact so that no ‘thing’ can enter by itself.

To clarify this point, Guan Yin uses the example of a drunk who fell off a cart without

dying. He states that the only reason why he did not hurt himself was because

‘[…] his spirit was complete. He rode [on the cart] without knowing about it and he fell

without knowing about it. Death, birth, fright and dread have not entered his breast.

Therefore he encounters the things without being scared.’

其神全也．乘亦弗知也，墜亦弗知也．死生驚懼不入乎其胸，是故遻物而不

慴．(Liezi 2/8/1-2).

Although Guan Yin afterwards indicates that this is not yet the kind of transcendence a

‘sage’ (sheng ren 聖人 ) is aiming for, this is a far more relatable example of how

unselfconsciousness can lead to invulnerability. Additionally it offers even more evidence that

the path to transcendence is connected with the perceptual and cognitive processes and that

the ‘spirit’ plays an important role within them.

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The next logical step in order to analyze this passage is therefore to have a closer look at

the Liezi’s notion of perception and cognition as well as the meaning of the ‘spirit’ within this

context. Afterwards I will contrast the results with the cosmogonic ideas embedded in this

work to demonstrate how these two topics are related to each other.

Abolishing the ‘offices’ (guan 官) and accessing the ‘spirit’ (shen 神)

The Liezi’s ideal of perception can be seen as an anti-concept to the prevalent model,

which depicts sensory organs as ‘offices’ (guan 官), and to the Confucian ideal of this model

in particular. The total number of organs ranked among the ‘offices’ varies. And so does the

actual composition, although the eyes and ears—or their respective faculties of seeing and

hearing—are often used to symbolize the entirety of the ‘offices’ (See Geaney 2002, 50-83).

Furthermore, the term ‘offices,’ even when these ‘offices’ are said to be filled by sensory

organs, is often used in a context which has nothing to do with perception per se (See

Enzinger, 2006, 6-8; 19-58). I will therefore stick to a direct translation of the term, even if

the context would allow to designate them as sensory organs. For a short draft of the

Confucian conception of the ‘offices,’ I will rely on Xunzi’s 旬子 (313-238 BCE)

elaborations. This is mainly due to obvious contrast between his ideal of perception and that

of the Liezi, which will be discussed below.

Within Xunzi’s model the ‘offices’ are responsible for the perceptive process. They

‘connect’ (jie 接) with ‘things’ (wu 物), distinguish them and choose between sensations this

specific ‘thing’ could inspire. These sensations are received by the heart, which is also

depicted as ‘ruler’ (jun 君), who occupies a dual position, as he is incorporated in the

perceptive as well as the cognitive process. He also perceives ‘things’—in this case the

sensations already distinguished by the ‘offices’—and responds by applying one of the

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emotional states he has been endowed with at birth (Xunzi 17/80/9-10). Moreover, he is

responsible to accumulate knowledge in response to the sensory input received. Most

remarkable, Xunzi states that new experiences can only be accepted as knowledge, after the

heart/ruler orders the ‘office’ of the mouth to translate them into language (Xunzi 22/108/12-

109/3).

As already evident by the chosen nomenclature, this idea of a highly bureaucratized

perceptive/cognitive system is a metaphor for an ideal government based on the Confucian

tradition. The fact that a new experience has to be communicated before it is regarded as

knowledge implies that it has to be ratified by the public. In other words: if an experience

does not comply with the Confucian doctrine, it does not count as knowledge. Rather

unsurprisingly, Xunzi’s idea of keeping the ‘offices’ balanced and ordered involves the

cultivation of the heart/‘ruler’ by means of ‘music’ (yue 樂) and ‘rites’ (li 裡)—both of which

can in a wider context be interpreted as metaphors for social norms and a strictly hierarchical

structure of society (See Graham 1989, 255-261).

But even though the image of the ‘offices’ might have been used to promote a certain

socio-political agenda, it nonetheless provides us with insights into early Chinese conceptions

of the perceptual process. The notion of a set of ‘offices,’ which are responsible for a first

connection with and evaluation of ‘things,’ is also attested for scriptures not directly

associated with the Confucian tradition—as is the danger that arises if the desires inherent in

these ‘offices’ are not kept under control by the heart.

Within the Techniques of the Heart I (Xin shu shang 心術上) chapter of the Guanzi 管子,

for example, it is repeatedly stated that the heart takes over the part as ‘ruler’ and that the

‘nine orifices’ (jiu qiong 九窮)—namely the nine body cavities—function as offices within

the human body. However, in contrast to Xunzi’s ideal, the ‘ruler’ in this model has to rule by

‘non-action’ (wu wei 無為). Only if the heart is stripped from its desires and does not interfere

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in the perceptive process, a ‘spirit’ (shen 神) will permanently stay within the body. This

‘spirit’ is compared to an ‘honorable person’ (gui ren 貴人), who likewise will not stay if one

does not clean out his lodging (Guanzi 13.1/95/25-97/27). As Hermann-Josef Röllicke

suggested, this idea is probably a remnant of the so called bin 賓 (‘honorable guest’)-ritual

during the Shang era (trad.: 1766-1122 BCE) (See Röllicke 1995, 228-232). In this ritual a

sacrificial banquet was held to invite higher ‘spirits’ in the hope to gain their favor and

possible insights that go beyond human knowledge (See Puett 2002, 44-50). The

identification of the heart with the ‘spirit’s’ ‘lodging’ and therefore its capability to gain

‘spiritual insight’ (shen ming 神明) appears to be common among early Chinese thinkers.

Xunzi, for instance, straightly states: ‘The heart is the ruler of the shape and the host of

spiritual insight’ (xin zhe, xing zhi jun ye, er shen ming zhi zhu ye 心者、形之君也，而神明

之主也; Xunzi 21/104/10-11).

The nature of the ‘spirit’ summoned, on the other hand, appears to have changed over time.

Whereas it is not entirely clear whether the Guanzi talks about actual ‘spirits’ that may reside

within the body, later texts seem to make a clearer distinction between a transcendent ‘spirit’

and a ‘spirit’ given to any human at birth. Harold D. Roth pointed out that this ‘human spirit’

(jing shen 精神; namely ‘vital essence and spirit’—Roth translates this spirit as “Numen as

Vital Essence” or “Numinous Essence”) is “the manifestation of the transcendent shen within

the physiological system […], that through which it performs its tasks of directing and

coordinating perception and cognition.” (Roth 1990, 24-25) This distinction, however, is only

obvious when contrasting the attributes the character shen 神 has in a given context, as it

often is used synonymously to jing shen 精神 (See Roth 1990, 24; Porkert 1965, 204).

Nonetheless, be it the transcendent ‘spirit’ or the ‘human spirit’ as its manifested form a

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person wants to access, it has to happen through ordering the ‘offices’ and the heart in a

certain way.

Remarkably also the Zhuangzi 莊子 appears to take the prevalence of the model of ‘offices’

and their connection with the ‘spirit’ as granted. This is, inter alia, evident in the famous story

about cook Ding, who was able to carve an ox so artistically that it left his lord in awe. When

asked how he achieved this level of skill, the cook replied:

At the time, when I first cut up oxen, what I saw was nothing but oxen. Three years later

I never saw complete oxen. And right now, I do not look at [them] with my eyes, but

meet [them] with the spirit. The offices know to halt, so the spirit desires to act.

始臣之解牛之時，所見无非牛者。三年之後，未嘗見全牛也。方今之時，臣以神

遇而不以目視，官知止而神欲行。(Zhuangzi 3/8/4-5).

The identification of the eyes with one of the offices is even more obvious in Cheng

Xuanying’s 成玄英 (fl. 650) commentary to this passage:

‘Offices’ are the term for the ruling supervisory authorities. [Further explained this]

means that the eyes rule over the appearances, the ears rule over the sounds, and so forth.

Since he met oxen with his spirit and did not use his eyes to look at them, all of the

ruling supervisory authorities—like the eyeballs, et cetera—were stopped and abolished.

He followed what the heart desired and acted adapting to the patterns. This is what is

meant by ‘being adept in nourishing life.’

官者，主司之謂也；謂目主於色耳司於聲之類是也。既而神遇，不用目視，故眼

等主司，悉皆停廢，從心所欲，順理而行，善養生者，其義亦然。(Cited from:

Guo 2012, 126).

The Zhuangzi thus also makes use of the concept of the ‘offices,’ since it describes sense

perception as it normally is to be found among people. For the Zhuangzi, however, the

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‘offices’ have to stop in order to let the ‘spirit’ act and thus enable a person to achieve the

awe-inspiring level of skill demonstrated by the cook.

Instead of the ‘offices,’ the term more commonly associated with a ‘Daoist’s’ image of the

sense organs is that of the ‘orifices’ (qiao 竅). In their entirety they are often depicted as

‘seven orifices’ (qi qiao 七竅 ). The Guanzi subsumed them as ‘nine orifices,’ but still

assigned ‘offices’ to them. In the view of the Zhuangzi or Liezi, however, these ‘offices’ need

to stop their work. They need to be abolished for the ‘orifices’ to be just holes again.

Comparing just these two terms already demonstrates the significant differences in the

understanding of how the perception should work. An ‘office’ plays an active role within the

perceptual process. It chooses a possible sensation, creates and submits ‘records’ (bo 簿), and

executes the orders of its supervisor after he evaluated these ‘records’ (Xunzi 22/108/12-

109/3). An ‘orifice’ on the other hand is passive. Every ‘thing’ might flow through it—

unfiltered, undifferentiated and in any direction.

And yet, in both instances the ‘seven orifices’ are mentioned in the Liezi, they merely act

as indicator for someone belonging to the human race.4 Most strikingly, in one of these

passages they are used to confirm that legendary tyrants and usurpers possess the same

features as any other person. The only difference is that they had the ‘hearts of beasts’ (qin

shou zhi xin 禽獸之心; Liezi 2/14/18-19).

In other words: having ‘orifices’ instead of ‘offices’ does not yet qualify a person as being

superior in any regard. There is still something left that needs to be taken into account when

trying to surpass these negative examples. The faculties of seeing, hearing, et cetera, shifted

4 ‘Orifices’ (qiao 竅) as description for bodily cavities are only used twice in the Liezi. However, in

several instances similar terms are used in connection with perceptive or cognitive processes [e.g.:

kong 孔 (‘hole’); Liezi 4/23/17]. The character guan 官 (‘office’), on the other hand appears five

times, but never in the context of sensory perception. I thereby suspect that the Liezi already

distanced itself from this model of perception.

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from the ‘offices’ directly to the heart, which still acts as the ‘ruler’ within the perceptual

system. If it is not ‘tamed’ in some way, and thus behaving like a ‘beast,’ there is nothing

which could stop the whole person to turn into a ‘villain’ of historical dimension. On the other

hand this means that it should be possible to achieve some kind of superiority and access to

the ‘spirit’ by adjusting the functioning of the heart in a proper way.

The heart, enemy of the state

A description of this adjustment is given in two almost identical passages in the second and

fourth chapters of the Liezi, concerning Liezi’s time of apprenticeship and his struggles to be

acknowledged by his teacher (Liezi 2/7/9-21, 4/22/18-23/1). The story goes that it took him

three years before his ‘heart no longer dared to think of right and wrong, and [his] mouth no

longer dared to speak of benefit and harm’ (xin bu gan nian shi fei, kou bu gan yan li hai 心不

敢念是非，口不敢言利害). Two years later, his heart and mouth once more ‘dared’ to

perform their duties, before finally, after seven years, Liezi

[…] followed the heart in what it thought, so that right and wrong existed even less. He

followed his heart in what it talked, so that benefit and harm existed even less. Only

then, the master pulled [him] over to sit side by side on the mat.

從心之所念，庚无是非；從口之所言，庚无利害，夫子始一引吾並席而坐 (Liezi

2/7/15-16; 4/22/20).

The constant pairing of the heart’s thinking and the mouth’s talking in this passage appears

to be an allusion to the cognitive process laid out by Xunzi. Only after confirming experiences

by reconciling them with the moral standards of society, they can be regarded as knowledge.

Liezi himself initially still followed this model, but after seven years the first decisive change

happens. After three years he did not differentiate, only because he did not ‘dare to.’ Thoughts

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about right and wrong still rose up and he had to actively fight them off. As he never

translated his thoughts into language, they cannot be confirmed to be existent. This struggle

appears to be worse than simply accepting the fact that it is normal to have thoughts. At least

Liezi’s teacher gave him a ‘smile’ (xiao 笑) when he started to think and speak again. After

seven years, however, Liezi ‘followed his heart’ (cong xin 從心).

According to the Liezi shiwen 列子釋文 cong should be read as zong 縱 (See Yang 2011,

46). Zong might also be translated as ‘to give free reign to’—with either negative or positive

connotations. ‘To follow,’ as a more neutral translation, seems more appropriate for someone

who does not think about ‘right and wrong’. However, both characters in question also signify

spatial movements, namely ‘to follow’ and ‘vertical.’ Thus it is also possible to say that after

seven years Liezi followed his thoughts in a vertical direction. Being in the slipstream of his

thoughts, he cannot differentiate between right and wrong because there is no external

position he could take to analyze his situation. He is not in control of his own doings, but

guided by whatever floats into his heart. The perceptive and cognitive processes might still be

intact, but he is no longer aware of them.

Several examples in the Liezi demonstrate that similar conditions might be reached through

some kind of unselfconscious concentration: Shang Qiukai商丘開, for instance, jumps from a

balcony, dives into dangerous waters and even walks through fire, but even his heart ‘does not

know how [he is able to do this]’ (bu zhi suo yi 不知所以) (Liezi 2/8/12-2/9/13).

But apparently this kind of state might also be caused by external factors or illnesses: The

drunk who fell from the cart achieved it by drinking himself into a stupor. In another story

Huazi 華子 is depicted as someone living an enviable life because he is ‘sick with

obliviousness’ (bing wang 病忘).

This latter anecdote might best describe the condition Liezi achieved after seven years.

Huazi is completely unaware of his surroundings. His cognitive process might theoretically

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still work up to a certain point, but he is unable to accumulate knowledge, because he forgets

everything he experienced. Yet, his perception and his vital processes are still intact, and so

are his human needs. When he is being starved, he demands food; when he is placed into the

dark, he demands light, and so forth. Although he himself later strives to return to this state, in

which no single thought or feeling ‘confused [his] heart’ (luan wu xin 亂吾心), the situation

seems to be unbearable for his family. They therefore task a Confucian scholar to ‘heal’ Huazi

from his obliviousness. This is where things turn to the worse for Huazi. The Confucian—

who is explicitly said to come from Kongzi’s 孔子 (551-479 BCE) home state Lu 魯—

‘changes his heart and converts his thinking’ (hua qi xin, bian qi lü 化其心，變其慮) and

after seven days Huazi is healed from his ‘sickness.’ Far from being happy about this,

however, he chases the Confucian and his family away because he is now forced to

experience all the different feelings again (Liezi 3/19/17-27).

Huazi’s story is a parade example of how the Liezi blames Confucian education for

society’s alienation from nature and the lost access to transcendental forces. Fan Zhixu 范致

虛 († 1129) further emphasizes this attitude in his commentary. He explains that already the

name of the protagonist and his hometown imply that what is being called ‘sickness’ by others

in fact is nothing more than a return to his ‘infancy’ (yinghai zhi shi 嬰孩之時). Thus

according to Fan, Huazi goes back to a state in which he was not yet affected by the artificial

and superficial culture created by Confucian moralists. (For a detailed analysis of Fan’s

commentary, see the annotated translation in Appendix I, 25-31).

The return to ‘infancy’ is an allusion to another passage of the Liezi, where this phase is

described as the ‘utmost of harmony’ (he zhi zhi 和之至). This is primarily contrasted with

the youth, in which ‘desires and worries fill [the person] and arise, and where the things attack

[this person]’ (yu lü chong qi; wu suo gong yan欲慮充起；物所攻焉) (Liezi 1/3/11-12).

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It can thus be said that the first step towards the Liezi’s ideal is to rid oneself of all the

norms and thinking patterns that have been implanted by the Confucian society. Turning

around the personal evolution and going back to a state in which one did not yet differentiate

the ‘things’ it is possible to live a life in harmony with Heaven and Earth, and maybe even

attain some ‘borderline-transcendent’ abilities.

However, the story of Liezi’s apprenticeship does not end just yet. There was another step

necessary for Liezi to be able to ride the wind. According to Graham’s translation, Liezi, after

nine years, “thought without restraint whatever came into his mind” (= heng xin zhi suo nian

橫心之所念; Graham 1990, 81). But analogous to the term cong xin discussed above, the

term heng xin also implies a spatial movement: heng 橫 can also be read as ‘to cross (e.g. a

river)’ and ‘horizontal.’ Initially Liezi followed the heart’s thinking vertically, but then he

crosses the ‘river of thoughts’ horizontally. After Liezi has done so he is depicted as being

unable to differentiate between his Self and others, his Self and his surroundings. But exactly

because of this un-Self-consciousness, he is able to ride the wind, since he no longer knows

whether the wind rides him or he rides the wind. In this state his ‘orifices’ are said to be

completely identical, his ‘heart froze and his shape was cast away; his bones and flesh were

completely fused’ (xin ning xing shi, gu rou dou rong 心凝形釋，骨肉都融; Liezi 2/7/16-19).

Zhang Zhan 張湛 (fl. 370) describes this sight even more drastically: ‘His six internal organs

and seven holes, his four limbs and hundred joints were sitting there, like a lumpy corpse, and

form a single thing’ (si zhi bai jie, kuairan shi ju, tong wei yi wu 四肢百節，塊然尸居，同

為一物; Cited from: Yang 2011, 48).

In my eyes, there are two major directions in which this act could be interpreted. As

discussed above, cong 從 could also be read as zong 縱. Apart from the meanings already

given, it could also be read as ‘warp.’ In weaving this term defines the vertical thread, which

is drawn through the ‘weft,’ the horizontal thread, to produce textiles. It is thus synonymous

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to jing 經. This is the term used in the abovementioned anecdote about the cook Ding to

describe the movement of his knife while cutting up the oxen (Zhuangzi 3/8/6). Heng 橫 can

also stand for wei緯, the ‘weft’ this thread is drawn through. Liezi, in contrast to Ding, might

thus create the whole textile, instead of only single threads without connection between them.

Since this action takes place in heart and mouth—which probably represents the entirety of

‘orifices’—, it could also be said that he gained complete access to the possibilities of the

perceptual and cognitive systems. Or maybe it is better to say that he gained a completely new

possibility to access the outer world by completely interweaving the ‘things’ that flow through

his body with his own Self: ‘Inside and outside became exhausted!’ (nei wai jin yi 內外進矣).

Everything in the material world, including Liezi, became one—Liezi therefore lost his own

Self in his un-consciousness.

Yet, having a second look at the story of cook Ding, there is another aspect to be

mentioned. In response to Ding’s expression, that he is ‘abiding the heavenly patterns’ (yi hu

tian li依乎天理) while he lets his ‘spirit’ take control of cutting the oxen, Guo Xiang郭象 (†

312) emphasizes that ‘he does not cut horizontally’ (bu heng zai ye 不橫截也; Cited from:

Guo 2012, 126). Cheng Xuanying goes even further in his comment:

Abiding the prevailing patterns, which are-so-of-Heaven, he eventually does not harm

oxen by cutting horizontally.

依天然之勝理，終不橫截以傷牛。(ibid.)

The ‘vertical’ direction of action in combination with Ding’s ‘abiding the patterns of

Heaven’ symbolizes Ding’s harmonious alignment of himself as human being (ren 人) with

Heaven (tian 天) and Earth (di 地). The cook’s story is a major example for the concept of

‘nurturing life’ (yang sheng 養生) and it appears that only the alignment with the cosmic

order in a ‘vertical’ direction enables a person to adhere to this concept. ‘Horizontally’ cutting

16

through this order, or—described by using yet another meaning of heng— ‘not abiding the

patterns (li 理),’ on the other hand, would be harmful. These ‘vertical’ and ‘horizontal’

movements take place in the heart. Figuratively speaking, it may be possible to say that Liezi

is crossing the character xin 心 (‘heart’) out of the work—and with it the cosmic order as well.

The destructive aspect of the action which brings Liezi one step further than the cook or

Huazi is even more drastically described in the commentaries to the latter anecdote. Li

Yuanzhuo’s 李元卓 (?)5, for example, notes that Huazi’s ‘obliviousness’ (wang 忘) is not the

kind of ‘obliviousness’ which enables a person to reach the Dao 道 (See also Fan Zhixu’s

commentary, Appendix I, 30-31). His ‘obliviousness’ is only comparable to the kind of the

drunk who fell from a cart without hurting himself (DZ 1263: fasc. 1001, 19a).6 What exactly

Li understands by the more esteemed kind of ‘obliviousness’ is described with a simple

explanation of the character itself:

The heart is originally without ‘heart-ness.’ ‘Heart-ness’ only emerges in reaction to the

things. For this reason [the character for] ‘obliviousness’ consists of the parts ‘heart’

and ‘perish.’

心本無心。因物則心，故心亡為忘。 (DZ 1263: fasc. 1001, 21a; punctuation by the

author).

Here Li plays with the possibility to use the character xin 心 as both noun (‘heart’) and

nominal adjective (‘heart-ness’) to signify that the heart only executes its function in the

perceptive and cognitive processes—thus possessing the adjective qualities of the term

‘heart’—after it allows itself to be influenced by ‘things.’ In its original state it is but an

5 Other than Li is mentioned to have held the post of ‘Instructor of the Imperial College’ (taixue

jiaoshou 太學教授) during the Southern Song, nothing is known about this author.

6 Citations in this style refer to scriptures directly cited from the Zhengtong daozang 正統道藏,

here abbreviated as “DZ.” The respective works are listed in the bibliography under “Primary

sources.”

17

anonymous organ that uses up space within the human body, without functioning in a way the

term ‘heart’ would imply. Real ‘obliviousness’ is therefore not comparable with mere

forgetfulness.

The immediate results of both interpretations, be it the constructive weaving or the

destructive crisscrossing, are the same. Liezi gets rid of the ‘heart-ness,’ loses his Self, and

becomes One with the cosmos—either through building up a web that spans through

everything existent, or by completely destroying the whole order altogether. Before touching

upon the slightly different implications, however, I want to come back to another point. By

propagating the loss of the Self, the Liezi clearly opens a rift between the everyday and the

religious sense of unselfconsciousness. The examples of the drunk, Shang Qiukai, and maybe

even Huazi, represented a kind of unselfconsciousness everyone can relate to. Either through

drugs, fixed goals, or mere forgetfulness, they achieve some kind of un-Self-reflected focus.

This focus allows them to escape harm, surpass their normal abilities, or live a life without

worries and distress because they just do not think too much about the situation they are in.

The complete loss of the Self, on the other hand, is a goal only a religiously motivated

person would strive for. The question remains, what this state stands for and why it could be

desirable for the believer. Possible answers to this might be given by retracing the steps Liezi

took in the nine years of apprenticeship and contrasting them with the Liezi’s notion of

cosmogony.

Outlining the Liezi’s Cosmogony

The first chapter of the Liezi offers several detailed descriptions of various aspects and

stages of the cosmogonic and evolutionary processes. For this article, however, I will

concentrate on only two passages. The first describes that in the beginning, before the cosmos

was created, only transcendent principles were in effect. After the emergence of the ‘highest

18

creativity’ (tai yi 太易),7 each of the principles initiated the existence of certain potentialities,

8

which culminates in the phase of ‘simplicity’ (yi 易). In this state the ‘ten thousand things’

(wan wu 萬物) are still fluidly blended together and not yet separated, which is why this

phase is also described as ‘muddy waves’ (hun lun 渾淪 ).9 Afterwards the ‘simplicity’

transforms to ‘One’ (yi 一), the ‘One’ transforms to ‘Seven’ (qi 七) and the ‘Seven’ to ‘Nine’

(jiu 九). All of these numbers are associated with the Yang 陽 force and thus share its creative

and expansive potency (See Michael 2011, 123). Accordingly, this process might in some

way be comparable the modern concept of a Big Bang, followed by an every expanding

universe. However, ‘Nine’ is seen as the endpoint of this expansion, as further transformation

means a return to the ‘One.’ This ‘One’ then initiates the ‘transformation of the shapes’ (xing

bian 形變), Heaven and Earth are born and the person emerges from the unification of the Qi

氣, which gushes out of them (Liezi 1/1/14-19).

The second passage, which has in parts already been mentioned above, concerns the path

of life any person continues after their emergence. In infancy the ‘Qi is concentrated and the

intention is unified’ (qi zhuan zhi yi 氣專志一), which is why it is regarded as the phase of

7 Translated more literally tai yi 太易 might also read ‘highest simplicity’ or ‘highest change.’ I

chose this looser translation to prevent any confusion with similar terms, which are to follow.

‘Creativity’ seemed a proper interpretation, since tai yi in this passage is the highest, purest

principle or potentiality, from which any other potentialities and forces derive.

8 Qi 氣, ‘shapes’ (xing 形) and ‘substance’ (zhi 質) are said to have their beginning here. As the

next step, however, is the ‘muddy waves,’ in which everything is indistinguishable mixed together

in a whole, it appears more suitable to imagine these as potentialities. Only after separating from

the ‘muddy waves’, they realize their potential. (See also: Michael 2011, 116).

9 The ‘muddy waves’ (hun lun 渾淪) are, of course, an allusion to hun dun 渾沌, who prominently

features in the Zhuangzi (Zhuangzi 7/21/23-25). For a detailed discussion of the numerous

mythological, mystical and philosophical conceptions this term is associated with see: Girardot

2008.

19

‘utmost harmony’ (he zhi zhi 和之至). The ‘things do not harm the person’ (wu bu shang yan

物不傷焉) yet. They are only able to do so in youth, when the ‘desires and worries fill [the

person] and arise’ (yu lü chong qi; 欲慮充起). These desires and worries gradually fade with

age, as the body begins to become weaker, before death finally enables the person to rest and

‘return to one’s zenith’ (fan qi ji yi反其極矣) (Liezi 1/3/11-14).

The last sentence could very well indicate that Liezi only has to wait for his death if he

wants to transcend—and indeed there are some other passages that confirm this possibility,

which will shortly be discussed below. Liezi’s path to transcendence, however, guides in the

opposite direction. In order to ride the wind, he turns his evolution around. In the beginning

Liezi still adhered to a system of thinking in dualistic patterns and therefore had desires and

worries confusing his heart. He was probably in his youth or middle age and had undergone a

regular Confucian education. After he rid himself of the ‘offices’ and started to follow his

heart without differentiating the ‘things’ anymore, he arrived at the starting point of his

infancy. He still perceives and reacts to his environment, but is no longer distracted by his

own thoughts or feelings (See Appendix I, 28-29). His actions are in complete alignment with

the newly created Heaven and Earth. Nonetheless Heaven, Earth, the Self, and the ten

thousand things still exist. Even though Liezi is unaware of it, he is still bound by the

‘heavenly patterns’ and dependent on the ‘things’ flowing through his body, without the

possibility to influence them. To gain access to the transcendent forces, he has to go back to a

point before Heaven and Earth were created. He has to horizontally cross, and thus terminate,

the tripartite alignment.

Staying within this picture, it is possible to say that after eliminating the horizontal and

vertical planes, only one single point is left. In this point Liezi, Heaven, Earth, and the ten

thousand things are one single entity (See Appendix II, 31-33). Liezi needed nine years until

he could cross both planes, which might symbolize a reversion of the ‘ninefold

20

transformations’ which took place before Heaven and Earth were created. Having abolished

all spatiality, Liezi thus arrived at the ‘One,’ which is directly connected to the ‘muddy

waves.’ (Using the aforementioned metaphor of ‘weaving a web,’ there would also be only

one single unity left. Since everything is ‘One’ spatiality could at least not be measured.) This

is the point where only indistinguishable transcendent forces and potentialities are at work,

and which is also defined as the starting point for the ‘transformation of shapes.’ Returning to

the dialogue between Guan Yin and Liezi, mentioned at the beginning of this article, Liezi

knocks on the door of the ‘non-shaping’ (bu xing 不形), where ‘change does not appear’ (wu

suo hua 無所化). Liezi might have become the ‘utmost human,’ who ‘floats around where the

ten thousand things end and begin’ (you hu wanwu zhi suo zhong shi 游乎萬物之所終始) as

Guan Yin stated.

By losing the Self, it is possible to become one with the cosmic principles. The various

transcendent principles and forces named in the first chapter are, as Thomas Michael

suggested, probably to be seen as different aspects of the Dao 道 itself and thereby act as

nameable representatives for the ultimately un-nameable (See Michael 2011). Being one with

the Dao one floats around a place where ‘change does not appear.’ Wu suo hua 無所化 could

also be translated as ‘where nothing can be changed anymore.’ Taking into account that hua

化 (‘change’) in the Liezi is often used as complementary force to sheng 生 (‘life,’ ‘birth’),

and often symbolizes ‘death,’10

this is a place where the ‘things’ reached their last

metamorphosis—they cannot ‘change’ again into another entity; they cannot die.

10

This is, inter alia, evident in the Liezi’s quasi-theory of evolution in the first chapter. Here it is

described how plants, animals and humans ‘change’ (hua 化) into another shape. Germs turn into

plants, which turn into insects, which then turn into plants and animals again until at some stage the

human is born, who turns into germs again (Liezi 1/2/8-3/1). This evolutionary circle is not to be

seen as manifestation of the Liezi’s faith in reincarnation: each of these ‘changes’ begets new life,

21

Revisiting the dialogue between Liezi and Guan Yin

Having traced back the backward evolution of a potential ‘utmost human’ based on the

adjustment of his perception I briefly want to return to the starting point of this article. More

precisely, I want to direct attention towards the choice of the protagonists of this dialogue.

Surely, Liezi is the protagonist of this work and Guan Yin, being the famous guardian of the

pass, who is said to have persuaded Laozi 老子 to write down his work, a highly respected

figure in his own right. But given the context of this passage, I suggest that they have mainly

been chosen because of their names.11

As seen above, the heart is defined as the seat of the ‘human spirit,’ the manifestation of

the transcendent ‘spirit.’ Access to this transcendent ‘spirit,’ and thus to the transcendent

principles just mentioned, can only happen through the human portion of it. Prerequisite,

however, is to maintain the completeness of this ‘human spirit.’ This is achieved by setting

out the functions of the heart within the perceptive and cognitive processes. Otherwise ‘things’

would float into the heart and stir up emotions, which disturb the ‘spirit.’ On the other hand,

not letting emotions come into the heart and not adhering to ‘things’ offer invulnerability

through unawareness (See Appendix II, 31-33).

Liezi, who plays the part of the disciple in this passage, is also known as Lie Yukou 列禦

寇. The character yu 禦 is sometimes replaced by its homophones yu 圄 or yu 御. Yet they all

share the same meaning ‘to repel’ or ‘to defend,’ whereas kou 寇 stands for ‘to plunder’ or

but the being which ‘changes’ clearly dies as an individual (See Jones 2011 for a more detailed

discussion of this topic).

11 Guan Yin is later often referred to as ‘Overseer of the gate Yin Xi’ (guan ling yin xi 關令尹喜),

which would make Yin Xi his personal name. This goes back to Sima Qian’s司馬遷 (145-86 BCE)

recount of his meeting with Laozi. In earlier texts, however, he is never mentioned to hold an actual

office, but is depicted as typical representative of Daoist scholarship, who goes by the name of

Guan Yin (See Kohn 1997, 84-89).

22

‘invader.’ Thus Liezi is someone who repels invaders. The term yukou 禦寇 was often used to

designate the minister of justice (See van Ess 2009, 16), but in this case I suggest that it

signifies that Liezi has to repel an invasion of his heart—an invasion lead by ‘things.’12

This

active move suggests that the Liezi of this anecdote is comparable to the Liezi after three

years of apprenticeship, whose ‘heart does not dare to think.’ He knows that he should not let

the ‘things’ into his heart, but he has to actively fight them off.

Guan Yin 關尹, on the other hand, literally means ‘overseer of the gate.’ He is the massive

bouncer in front of the heart disco, who decides what comes in and what stays out. He can

choose on his own whatever enters his heart and ‘things’ cannot ‘enter him by themselves’ (zi

ru yan 自入焉). He might therefore fit his own description of the ‘utmost human.’

If Guan Yin and Liezi, who already learned to ride the wind, should indeed have reached

the state of ‘utmost humans,’ then it appears that these beings are able to decide on their own

when they want to shut down their heart and gain transcendent abilities. Likewise they should

be able to open their heart again and return to the human world. However, it might be the case

that the return is not their own choice, but inevitable. Liezi became famous for being able to

ride the wind, but the passage in the Zhuangzi to which this idea can be traced back also states:

After fifteen days he returned again [...] Even though he was released from moving [the

normal way], he still had something he was depending on.

旬有五日而後反。[...]此雖免乎行，猶有所待者也。(Zhuangzi 1/1/31-1/2/1).

What he is depending on according to the Zhuangzi, surely is the wind. But returning to the

Liezi and the reverse evolution as described above and once more indicated by the Zhuangzi’s

mentioning of ‘fifteen days,’ I would suggest that he is also depending on time.

12

Fan Zhixu similarly used the character kou 寇 in his description of Huazi, whose Yin 陰 and

Yang 陽 could not be ‘plundered,’ because of his forgetfulness (See Appendix I, 28).

23

By eliminating his ‘heart-ness,’ he got rid of spatiality and returned to the state of ‘One.’

However, as seen above, starting from the ‘One’ there seems to be an endless circle of re-

creation. ‘One’ becomes ‘Seven,’ ‘Nine’ and ‘One’ again, and finally Heaven and Earth

reappear—and with it Liezi. He only touched upon the doors of the ‘muddy waves,’ and

therefore temporarily gained access to transcendent abilities and invulnerability. But he never

became one with the Dao. To achieve this, it seems that Liezi has to permanently lose his Self.

He does not have to annihilate his ‘heart-ness,’ but his complete heart, so that ‘heart-ness’ has

no way of coming into action again. ‘Things,’ including the Self, space and time all have

ceased existing. Liezi has to die as human in order to be immortal within the Dao. The

unavoidability of death is stated quite clearly within the Liezi:

Shapes inevitably come to an end. Do Heaven and Earth come to an end? They come to

an end together with the Self. […] What comes to an end cannot not come to an end,

just as what has a birth cannot not have birth.

形，必終者也；天地終乎？與我偕終。[…]終者不得不終，亦如生者之不得不生。

(Liezi 1/3/4; See further Appendix II, 31-33).

And another passage goes:

If the human spirit leaves the form, each returns to its truth. This is why they are called

‘ghosts.’ ‘Ghost’ means ‘returnee’—they return to their true home.

精神離形，各歸其真；故謂之鬼。鬼、歸也，歸其真宅。(Liezi 1/3/7-9).

The ‘play on characters’ with the two homophones gui 鬼 (‘ghost’) and gui 歸 (‘to return’)

as well as the possibility to read zhai 宅 as both, ‘home’ and ‘graveyard,’ are subtle hints to a

simple message: Only in death the human manifestation of the ‘spirit’ can return to its ‘true

home,’ the transcendent force it came from.

24

Conclusion

In this article, I tried to illustrate how the Liezi justifies the step from an everyday sense of

unselfconsciousness to the religious sense, which is signified by a total loss of the Self.

Contrasting the process of adjusting one’s perception with the cosmogony embedded in the

Liezi, it became clear that only a loss of the Self in unconsciousness offers the opportunity to

come close to the realm of pure transcendent principles and forces. Different methods and

degrees of progress towards this un-Self-consciousness are associated with varying degrees of

invulnerability or special abilities. However, the ultimate goal of a religiously motivated adept,

the complete unification with a primordial Dao, appears to be achievable only by a permanent

loss of the human Self—namely dying as an individual.

Choosing a passage, which can in almost identical form also be found in the Zhuangzi was

no coincidence. Although it was necessary to trace certain conceptions back to other sources

and provide brief insights into some of the discourses the Liezi’s ideas have to be seen in

context with, the main argumentation was based on a close reading of the work itself and its

commentaries. Thereby I wanted to hint at the fact that the author/compiler of the Liezi, even

though she or he largely borrowed from other works, still used these portions to place them

into a different framework and create his own worldview.

25

Appendix I

Fan Zhixu’s commentary to the anecdote about Huazi (Liezi 3/19/17-27)

Song [i.e. ‘housing’ signifies] a place, where fire dwells and shines.13

Yang [i.e. ‘light’

signifies] what causes the innate character to move floating on the surface. Li [i.e. ‘being

inside’ signifies that] he dwells but is not profound.14

Hua [i.e. ‘blossoming’ signifies that] he

unfolds and separates himself from the root.15

Zi [i.e. ‘child’ signifies] the return to his

infancy. Zhong nian [i.e. ‘being middle aged’ signifies that] his involvement in human

artificiality is already deep.16

Bing wang [i.e. ‘falling sick with obliviousness’ signifies that]

he returned to his innate character.17

13

This is a reference to an entry in the Zuo zhuan 左傳, in which sighting of a comet is discussed.

The state Song 宋 is named as one of the places that were predicted to go up in flames, when this

comet reappears (Chunqiu Zuozhuan B10.17.5/367/7-16).

14 fu 浮 means ‘floating on the water surface.’ Paired with the comment that Huazi is ‘not profound’

(fei ao 非奧), it probably stands more for superficiality than for the actual movement.

15 hua 華 means ‘to blossom’, but also stands for Chinese culture as such. fu 敷 (‘to unfold’) could

also be read as its homophone fu 肤 (‘skin’), which again could be a metaphor for something

‘superficial. ’ The sentence could therefore also be rendered: ‘Because of the culture, he become

superficial and separated himself from the root’.

16 ren wei 人偽 (‘human’ and ‘forged’—or: ‘what is artificially created by humans’) is the opposite

of zi ran 自然 (‘by-itself-so-being’—often translated as ‘natural’ or ‘nature’).

17 The whole paragraph discusses how cultural education leads humans to distance themselves from

their origins. The Yang 陽 force, which marks outward expansion, and thus in this case cultural

evolution, is described in a negative light. It invokes humans to become superficial and might even

provoke a catastrophe, as can be deduced from the reference to ‘fire’ and the comet, which will

come down on the state Song.

Huazi, however, seems to follow the contracting Yin 陰 force. He returned to his infancy and

therefore comes closer to his roots again. At the same time he is closer to birth and thus his mother.

Most probably this is an allusion to following statement in the Dao de jing 道德經, which can also

be found in the Liezi:

26

宋者，火所次而明；陽者，性常浮而動；里，則處而非奧；華，則敷而離根；子，

則又其嬰孩之時也；中年，則涉人偽之已深；病忘，則還性。

Calling the temporary return of Heaven a sickness, illustrates the sickness of mundane

desires. But it is not the case that the person is lost and without the possibility to return: When

in antiquity people talked about reaching the Dao, they inevitably attached value to forgetting

the heart. Does the sickness of this child of Song mean that he almost forgot his heart and

grasped the truth of the Dao?

[If he had grasped] the truth, then he would have reached the One!

天之暫復而謂之病，見世欲之病。非迷而不復者也；古之語致道者，必貴乎忘心。

宋子之病，其幾乎忘心而得道之真者耶？

真則致一矣！

Forgetting in the evening, whatever he took in the morning means forgetting the morning.

Forgetting in the morning, whatever he gave in the evening means forgetting the evening.

Forgetting to proceed when he is on a journey means forgetting the journey. Forgetting to sit

down when he is at home means forgetting the home. Today not being aware of what was

before means forgetting today. Later not being aware of what was today means forgetting the

later.18

The spirit of the valley does not die—she is called dark femininity. The gate of the dark

femininity—it is called root of Heaven and Earth.

谷神不死，是謂玄牝。玄牝之門，是謂天地根 (Laozi 6A/2/19; Liezi 1/1/9)

It can therefore be said that Huazi came close to the origins of the cosmos. He is knocking on the

gate, which would give him entry to the realm beyond creation.

18 Instead of translating the preposition yu 於 as accusative marker, it could also be translated

locative or temporal (e.g.: ‘forgetting in the morning,’ ‘forgetting at home,’ etc.). In any case, but

especially when translated as above, it has to be noted that the use of this preposition before the

object indicates, that it is not a direct forgetting. Huazi’s perceptive and cognitive system is still in

27

朝取而夕忘，忘於朝也；夕與而朝忘，忘於夕也；在途則忘行，忘於途也；在室則

忘坐，忘於室也；今不識先，忘於今也；後不識今，忘於後也。

Initially what he took and gave—this means he forgot things. Subsequently he forgot to

proceed and sit down—this means he forgot places. Eventually he forgot what was later and

before—this means he forgot time.19

始，則忘取與；是忘物也。中，則忘行坐；是忘所也。終，則忘後先；是忘時也。

Moreover, how could it be possible to declare this a sickness? Since it is already called

sickness, then there inevitable exists someone, who suffers from it. But if he daily forgets,

then who exactly should this person be, that suffers from it?

且獨奈何而以此為病耶？既已謂之病，必有受之者；其日忘，則受之者，又其誰也？

Not knowing that he had never been sick, the whole household considered him in pain.

[This situation] did not end, so they called on a soothsayer to make him a prediction. The

prediction did not end it, so they further called on a magician to perform an exorcism on him.

The rituals did not end it, so they called on a healer to treat him. All three of them had nothing

they could apply their arts on.

不知其未嘗病，乃闔室毒之；毒之不已，乃謁史而卜之；卜之弗已，又謁巫而禱之；

禱之弗已，又謁醫而攻之；三者，無所用其術。

The Confucian from Lu thereafter followed their steps and introduced himself as someone

who would be able to heal him. Lu is the [birth-] place of literature and things.20

operation to some degree. He needs some time to forget what came into his heart—even though

this timespan might be too short to be aware of it.

19 Note that Huazi only forgot ‘things,’ ‘places’ (therefore space) and ‘time.’

20 wen 文 and wu 物 , when read together could also stand for ‘cultural things’ or ‘cultural

inheritance.’ Wen as ‘literature’ is a metaphor for education, or culture itself. The ‘things’ might be

a direct reference to those ‘things,’ that are said to attack the person, if he perceives them. At any

rate, the home state of Confucius is depicted as the place, from which all danger for one’s heart

emerged.

28

Confucianism is the art of humaneness and appropriate conduct. By this the great

completeness was broken apart!21

魯之儒，又躡其後，而自媒能治焉。魯者，文物之地；儒者，仁義之術；大全自此

析矣！

However—he is by himself without doubt and therefore fortune and misfortune are not

what could be known about. What could possibly be observed in a prediction? He is by

himself without misconduct. Therefore spirits and ghosts are not what could be inferred. What

could prayers possibly exorcise? He is by himself without ill. Therefore Yin and Yang are not

what could be plundered. What could medicine possibly cure?

然，彼自無疑，則非吉凶之所能知；卦兆奚占？彼自無愆，則非鬼神之所能測；祈

請奚禱？彼自無疾，則非陰陽之所能寇；藥石奚攻？

He desired to mend his forgetfulness, so he tried to change his heart and tried to convert his

thinking. As if he really had an illness!

欲愈其忘，試化其心，試變其慮；庶幾其有疹乎！

After this, he stripped him of his clothes and let him know about coldness. He starved him

and let him know about hunger. He set him into darkness and let him know about light. His

heart was not united therefore became a partner of the things!22

[Huazi] was cold and he knew

21

As discussed in the main part of this article, the ‘completeness’ of ‘heart’ and ‘spirit’ are

disturbed by dualistic thinking patterns, which are the result of Confucian education. The comment

that the ‘great completeness’ was broken apart probably not only refers to Huazi, but mankind in

general.

22 A variant of the expression ‘becoming a partner of the things’ (wei wu yu 為物偶) was also used

by Emperor Huizong of the Song Dynasty 宋徽宗 (1082-1135; r. 1100-1126) in his commentary to

the anecdote about the drunk who fell from a cart:

When the Dao as thing reaches the non-shaping it does not take another thing as partner. When

it comes to halt in the place, where change does not appear, it stands alone and does not become

what the things roll over.

29

to demand clothing. He was starving and knew to demand food. He was in darkness and knew

to demand light. Thus can be seen that the heart was no longer alone, but had obtained a

counterpart!23

於是，露之使知寒；飢之使知飢；幽之使知明；心非一而為物偶矣！其寒而知求衣；

飢而知求食；幽而知求明；見非獨而心有對矣！

After drilling into him for seven days, the seven orifices of Hundun are open. Eliminating

[the state of Hundun] one morning, the ten thousand conditions of the mundane world

altogether rose up [in him]. That he dismissed his wife and children in great anger

demonstrates that he [then] had those close to his Self, and that he reproached them deeply.

That he chased the Confucian with a dagger-axe in his hand demonstrates that he [then] had

someone putting demands to his Self, and that he hated him intensely.

鑿之七日，混沌之七竅遂開。除之一朝，世間之萬態俱起。大怒而黜其妻子，以其

有親於我而責之深也。操戈而逐儒生，以其有求於我而憾之切也。

Existing and perishing, obtaining and loosing, being sad and being joyful, liking and

hating—the past is scattered in ignorance; the present is an endless chase. Forgetting for just

one moment—how could this be achieved again?

存亡、得失、哀樂、好惡；向也，各各不知；今也，營營不已。須臾之忘，安可得

哉？

道之為物，造乎不形，而不與物為偶；止乎無所化，則獨立而不為物所運。 (DZ 732:

fasc. 462, 4.24a; punctuation by the author).

If the heart, and therefore the person, wants to be like the transcendent Dao, it cannot let itself be

influenced by any ‘thing’ (See also fn. 26 below).

23 Here it becomes evident that the function of Huazi’s heart was not completely suspended in the

first place. He still reacts to ‘things’, which means that his perception and cognition are still intact.

This is the reason for the Confucian to consider it possible to bring Huazi back into society.

30

That Zi Gong asking Kongzi, wondered about it, demonstrates nothing more than that he

drowned in the disputes of scholarship. That Kongzi, turning around, spoke to Yanhui and let

him make notes about it, demonstrates nothing more than that he reached the subtleties of

seated obliviousness.24

子貢問於孔子而怪之，以其溺於博學之辯而已。孔子顧謂顏回而記之，以其造於坐

忘之妙而已。

Therefore it is obvious that Huazi’s forgetfulness is certainly not true forgetfulness! His

sickness was merely forgetting because of dullness. When he gained his consciousness he

became furious in agitation. The reason for this is nothing more than that he was not yet able

of twofold forgetting and changing himself in the Dao.25

24

This is an allusion to a passage in the Zhuangzi, in which Yan Hui 顏回 frequently reports his

learning progress to Kongzi 孔子. First he had to ‘forget’ (wang 忘) ‘humaneness’ (ren 仁),

‘appropriate conduct’ (yi 義 ), ‘rites’ (li 禮 ) und ‘music’ (yue 樂 )—and therefore all of the

Confucian conceptions of an ideal society—before he was able to perform ‘seated obliviousness’

(zuowang 坐忘; Zhuangzi 6/19/17-22).

Later this term is frequently used in scriptures associated with ‘Inner Alchemy’ (nei dan 內丹; e.g.

the Zuowang lun 坐忘論) and describes meditation-techniques.

25 The meaning of ‘twofold forgetting,’ or ‘forgetting both’ (liang wang 兩忘) in this context is

best illustrated by the following statement of Cheng Xuanying:

If one preserves the spirit without loss, then spirit and essence are frozen and still. Subsequently

the shape will be identical to withered wood and the heart resembles dead ashes. Things and the

Self are both forgotten, the embodied Self and the spirit are one.

守神而不喪，則精神凝靜，既而形同枯木，心若死灰，物我兩忘，身神為一 (cited from:

Guo (2012) S. 546).

‘Twofold forgetting’ means to forget both, oneself and the ‘things.’ Apparently Huazi only forgot

one of them and was not able to fully ‘preserve the spirit.’ Most strikingly, however, the

description of someone who ‘forgot both’ is reminiscent to the depiction of Liezi after he

‘annihilated’ his heart and became able to ride the wind.

31

然則，華子之忘猶非誠忘者耶！其病，則冥然而忘。及其悟，則咈然而怒。未能兩

忘而化於道故耳。 (DZ 732: fasc. 463, 8.10b-12a; punctuation by the author).

Appendix II

Fan Zhixu’s commentary to the dialogue between Liezi and Guan Yin (Liezi 2/7/23-8/3)

If one explores the beginning of the shapes, [it becomes clear] that Heaven and Earth are

born together with the Self. Before the initial plurality, the ten thousand things and the Self

were One. Which thing could then be called cart? Which thing could be called human? Which

thing could be called falling? Which thing could be called harm?

探形之始，天地與我並生。原數之先，萬物與我為一；奚物而謂之車，奚物而謂之

人，奚物而謂之墜，奚物而謂之傷？

As soon as the Heaven is open and the person fabricate a frame out of that what connects

with him, he will hold onto the things and takes them for something existing.26

Consequently

that which is seen has indeed become a cart! Recognizing the Self as reality, then that what he

knows about is indeed falling! If knowledge and seeing are established, and riding and falling

are distinguished from each other, then how could there be no harm?

The whole concept of ‘twofold forgetting’ is probably based on the Buddhist doctrine of the

‘twofold being without Self’ (nairātmya-dvaya), which includes ‘being without a Self of a person’

(pudgala-nairātmya) and ‘being without a Self of entities’ (dharma- nairātmya).

26 Within the context of perception jie 接 (‘to connect’) is often used to depict the first contact of an

‘office’ with the ‘things’ (E.g.: Xunzi 17/80/9-10). Here the contact is probably made by the heart

itself.

The character gou 構 (‘structure’ or ‘frame’) implicates that something was artificially created as

well as that, what has been created sets limits, which have not been there before. In this case one’s

perception is limited by what one perceives.

32

一旦開天而人與接為構，則執物以為有；所見者，誠車矣！認我以為實，所知者誠

墜矣！知見立而乘墜分，詎能無傷乎？

The completeness of the drunk [came] through alcohol. His knowledge vanished because

of the alcohol and his sight darkened because of the alcohol. He rode without knowing that a

cart existed, and he fell without knowing that the earth existed.27

Death, birth, fright and dread

have not entered his breast. This is because he is disobedient to the things and does not absorb

them.28

彼醉者，之全於酒；知以之泯，見以之冥；乘不知有車，墜不知有地；死生驚懼不

入乎其胸；是故忤物而不慴。

However, to temporarily entrust his completeness to alcohol can only last for that instant

and no longer! How much more could it be if the completeness of the innate character would

not yet have begun to distance itself?

而暫寄其全於酒者，猶且然爾！況性之全，未始離者乎？

Everything beneath Heaven is just one cart! Entrusting oneself to it and riding on top of it,

if one opens oneself up to the chasing of knowledge and perceptions on the inside and follows

the confusion of illusion and change [on the outside]29

—once it falls over on the ground of all

the various illusions, not only the bones and joints will get hurt!30

27

Li Yuanzhuo carries this thought on:

His embodied Self does not know that a contact exists. Being in contact, he does not know that

harm exists. Being frozen, there is nothing, which would be separated in him.

身不知有觸，觸不知有傷；凝然無所分焉。 (DZ 1263: fasc. 1001, 14b; punctuation by the

author).

28 wu 忤 could also be read ‘to crisscross’, which would fit into the metaphor of ‘crossing out the

heart.’

29 ‘on the outside’ (wai 外) is added according to Li Yuanzhuo (See: DZ 1263: fasc. 1001, 14b).

30 Li Yuanzhuo adds another step between:

33

天下一車爾！託而乘其上者，內開智見之營營、逐幻化之擾擾；一將傾覆於諸妄之

地，匪直骨節之傷也。

If the sage conceals himself in Heaven, and therefore nothing is able to harm him, this then

is something that in the past was called preserving the completeness and being without cracks.

聖人藏於天，故莫之能傷，則向之所謂守全而無郤者是也。

Although it is like this, calling it Heaven is because it is contrasted with human. But if the

innate character is unified, then the innate character does not exist—how could there possibly

be a Heaven? Calling it concealing, it is contrasted with opening. But if the Heaven is unified

then Heaven does not exist—how could there possibly be a concealing? Here the investigation

reached a point, language categorically cannot discuss anymore.

雖然，謂之天者，以其對人；一性無性，況有天乎？謂其藏者，以其對開；一天無

天，況有藏乎？審造於是，固有言之所不能論者。 (DZ 732: fasc. 462, 4.25a-25b;

punctuation by the author).

Once falling over on the ground of all the various illusions, it does not immediately hurt the

bones and joints, but the entrance for panic and worries [is created]. As soon as he opens his

Heaven, the ten thousand conditions will enter altogether. If the awaking [person] sees the cart

turning over, how could he receive no harm?

將傾覆於諸妄之地，非直骨節之傷，驚懼之入也。一開其天，萬態俱入；猶醒者之視車

覆，且得無傷乎？ (DZ 1263: fasc. 1001, 14b; punctuation by the author).

34

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